


Love at First Sign

by Battlecat_ftw



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: ASL interpreter - Freeform, Alternate Universe, American Sign Language, Deaf, Deaf Character, Deaf Mickey, Domestic Fluff, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, a tiny bit angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:27:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25904305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Battlecat_ftw/pseuds/Battlecat_ftw
Summary: Dive into an alternate universe with me where Mickey Milkovich, a deaf tattoo artist, meets Ian Gallagher, an American Sign Language (ASL) interpreter. A unique coincidence for the both of them to just be on the right spot at the right time. Or was it faith? Read and decide for yourself ;)
Relationships: Gallavich - Relationship, Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 159
Kudos: 340





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first multi chapter I have ever written, so please be kind, everyone! 😉 (I am still working on my summary skills^^).
> 
> A very special thanks goes out to my amazing friends Nicrenkel and stars_fall_on – I couldn’t have written this story without you guys! Thank you for always encouraging me and not letting me give up! Nic, thank you soooo very much for being the best beta I could have wished for <3
> 
> I am personally learning sign language to become an interpreter at the moment, so this is very close to my heart! It‘s not ASL (I am not from the US) - but this is the future goal to also become fluent in ASL. I do know some ASL though and used my knowlege for the story.
> 
> Some facts that might be helpful (in regards to American Sign Language) while reading this story:  
> In this story you will sometimes find words written like this “M-I-C-K-E-Y” – this means that whoever is saying this specific word is spelling it with only the finger alphabet used in ASL. Could be used for names for example. (here is a video of all the letters for anyone who is interested https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tkMg8g8vVUo)
> 
> Name signs are usually given to anyone by a deaf/hard of hearing person, you normally don’t choose your own name sign. Mostly it is a combination of the first letter of your name and a sign that, for example, describes your personality or is in any way in relation to you.

**Thursday, September 24th, 09:00pm**

Ian made it to the plane within the last second of boarding, panting and completely out of breath. Last call was already over and the sweat from the run was pooling on his forehead. Those New York airports seemed to get bigger every time he was there. Thankfully, the tall redhead had always been in good shape and had handled what felt like a marathon to catch that damn plane.

Slicking his _’a bit too long already’_ red locks back to get them out of his sight, he walked carefully along the narrow aisle. Ian checked his ticket while the plane began leaving its parked position.

17D - this was the seat he was looking for. He didn’t really like planes. He thought he would get used to them over time, but even though his new job was making him fly all over the country for training purposes and what not, he still wasn‘t feeling any better about the idea.

Ian‘s breathing slowed down as he looked for his seat. A flight attendant announced over the radio that the aircraft was fully booked and asked for a fair use of the overhead compartments. Ian sighed. He was hoping for a free spot next to him for more comfort.

17D, finally. Ian was confused about the fact that the seat next to him was still unoccupied, but there wasn’t enough energy left in him to think about it further. He let his whole weight fall down on the aisle seat and was glad he could finally relax. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep.

...  
Ian Clayton Gallagher was twenty-five years old with freckles splashed all over his face, tall, red hair, and always wore his tongue on his sleeve.

He grew up on the South Side of Chicago with his five siblings: Fiona, Lip, Debbie, Carl and Liam. Fiona, the oldest, has always looked after them. She basically raised them ‘cause their parents, Frank and Monica, weren’t able to do so considering they weren't around much.

When Ian was eight his brother Carl, who had just turned three, got real sick. Monica was gone for weeks straight and Frank, like always, was either getting drunk somewhere or passed out in an alley – and, to be honest, just didn‘t give a shit.

Fiona, who was still a child at fourteen, took care of him. Carl developed a high fever and threw up a lot. After days, even though she did what she always did when any of them caught the flu, it only got worse. When the little boy also got a rash and wasn’t able to talk properly anymore, Fiona got scared. She took the toddler to the ER. There, Carl was diagnosed with bacterial meningitis and treated but the doctor had to tell Fiona that the meningitis was the cause of sensorineural deafness and her brother won‘t be able to hear anymore.

For Carl’s sake, Ian and all their other siblings learned American Sign Language (ASL) with him. It grew on them and soon became just as commonly-used as English was.

Ian gradually became the one most involved with helping Carl, interpreting in different situations. He helped him with doctor appointments as well as just arguments.

School was the only place they had an interpreter for him – this was possible because of the non profit organization “Helping Hands“ who provided interpreters for anyone – especially people who need them but weren’t able to afford one.

Ian always admired Carl‘s interpreter, Tom. He looked up to him, and kind of saw him as a role model. Which was _maybe_ also the reason for Tom being Ian’s first crush and Ian realizing that he was not wired like most of his classmates. This was right before he discovered Justin Timberlake.

Growing up on the South Side of Chicago as a closeted gay kid wasn‘t always easy for him. But after coming out to his family on his fifteenth birthday and none of his siblings acting weird or different about it - he started to feel proud to be who he was, and didn’t try to keep it a secret anymore.

After graduating highschool, Ian worked part time as an unpaid intern at the office of Helping Hands, a job Tom helped Ian to get and maintain while he was studying to get his Bachelor degree.

This was his plan. To work as an interpreter, and help the less fortunate. It has always been his passion to help people and this was the right path for him.

After four years of juggling work and university, he got his Bachelor’s degree and could now get certified by the Registry of Interpreters. Ian could finally, _officially_ , start working for Helping Hands. At long last, a job he got paid for! Since they had a very strict program for new interpreters, Ian had to do a lot of training sessions, mostly in New York.

Ian never considered moving out of the Gallagher house, though. His family, especially Carl, needed him there. Even when Carl told Ian that now, as a twenty-year-old, he was old enough to be on his own; making money as a mechanic and wanting to move in with his current girlfriend. Ian made him promise to text him whenever he needed him. As an interpreter or simply as his brother, he would always know where to find him.

Yes, he was working for Helping Hands on the North Side, but at the end of the day he would always go home, and be home, on the South Side of Chicago.  
...

“Sir? Please fasten your seatbelt and store your backpack under the seat in front of you.” Ian startled out of his semi dream state due to the flight attendant tapping on his shoulder.

“Oh...yeah. Erm. Sorry.“ He stumbled over his own words as he struggled to wake up properly while the young woman dressed head-to-toe in blue waited patiently for him to buckle up.

Storing his backpack, he realized he must have gotten a neighbor while he was out.

Turning to his right, he was taken aback by the beauty of the man sitting next to him. His hair was black and his skin pale. The man was wearing a black long sleeved shirt and when Ian saw tattoos poking out on both arms-- and even on his neck, he got curious as to how that whole body might look without that damn shirt on.

On top of the shirt he was wearing a vest with what seemed to be self-cut off sleeves.

The black haired man was holding a book, and emanating a _“do not speak to me“_ aura that was almost visible. It was as if the man was in his own little world, blocking out everyone else. At every turn of a page Ian saw some knuckle tats, looking like letters written into his skin, but the redhead wasn‘t able to identify what they said.

“Sir?“ the flight attendant made herself heard. Ian didn’t even realize that she was still there until she spoke up. “Your seatbelt.“ She forcefully pointed at the black belt.

“Yeah, sure. Sorry.“ And with that, he clicked it shut.

Since planes were never his thing, the take off and the landing were when Ian had to try the hardest to make himself comfortable. Up in the air, he was able relax a bit more and he drifted off again.

Ian woke to a flight attendant standing next to him, visibly struggling to talk to the black haired man. Looking to his right, Ian realized that the man was speaking in sign language. He caught the man signing “Whiskey and orange juice, god damn it!“ Voicing it as well, but it was almost inaudible.

While Ian was still trying to fully wake up, he saw the flight attendant leave with a confused look on his face, but nodding nonetheless.

Ian turned back to his neighbor and introduced himself by spelling his name I-A-N followed by his name sign - using the sign for “tall” but signing it with only the pinky, the “I”, finger. A name, which was given to him by a tiny Carl a long time ago, but stuck till this day.

He asked the man for his name as well. His neighbor, who briefly looked stunned about the fact that he had a seat-mate who could sign, quickly finger spelled M-I-C-K-E-Y and then didn‘t show interest in talking any further.

When the flight attendant returned, Ian already saw from afar that he had grabbed the wrong drink. Whiskey and coke-- _the usual_ , Ian thought. But Mickey clearly wanted orange juice.

Seeing the drink upset Mickey, screaming “NO!“ with both eyebrows raised and followed by a loud grunt. The black haired man signed angrily in Ian‘s direction. “Ask him ‘How hard can Whiskey with OJ be?’ He‘s a fucking idiot!“ His eyes darted angrily at the attendant.

Ian, catching Mickey‘s attention, replied quickly. “Do I have to say THAT?“

Mickey huffed out a sarcastic laugh. “He deserves to know!“, raising his eyebrows in challenge.

The attendant was visibly getting annoyed and Ian really wanted to defend Mickey, and rant about how airports and planes are awful for deaf and hard of hearing customers and how most announcements at the airport and during the flight are often just done over the speakers. But he tried to contain himself and let it go. He told the man what happened and ordered the correct drink.

“You pussy sure as hell were way too nice to that fuckhead.“ Mickey stated.

“Oh, shut up!“ Ian countered playfully. “And...you’re welcome!“ he added.

A smile tugged at the corner of Mickey’s mouth and Ian couldn’t help but smile back like an idiot. His neighbor’s attitude was very intriguing. With a quick nod in Ian’s direction and looking back down into his book, Mickey ended the conversation. Ian had no other possibility than to accept it, although getting to know this guy just made the top of his list, since it was already close to the top the second he first caught sight of him.

Leaning his head back into the seat, the redhead just couldn't seem to wipe the huge grin from his face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys like where this is going! I am happy about any feedback (:

**Thursday, September 24th, 10:30pm**

Sometime during the middle of the flight, a woman had suddenly shown up next to Ian. She was stunning, with black hair, bangs reaching over her eyes, and a pierced nose. She looked very pretty in her casual wear, dressed only in a black t-shirt and jeans.

She started waving a hand between the book and Mickey’s face, obviously trying to get his attention. The man looked up, immediately rolling his eyes, signing “ _What_?“

They began arguing, starting with “the whiskey incident“ from earlier, and devolving into several other spats. Ian tried to follow the conversation as casually as he could manage, trying his best not to come off as eavesdropping. But with the cabin of the plane as dark as it was, it was nearly impossible to follow their furious motions, despite glancing back and forth between them.

She eventually turned to Ian. “Sorry if my brother bothered you. I heard him screaming all the way from the last row! My name is Mandy, by the way.” She offered Ian her hand and as he took it, she immediately pulled him in for a full-bodied embrace.

“Stop hitting on every dude we meet. You’re embarrassing yourself!“ Mickey signed.

“Shut up, fuckface!“ Mandy replied.

 _Same attitude_ , Ian thought with a smile. “Oh, he didn‘t bother me at all. I was just trying to help,” he signed back, but in glancing to his right he realized that Mickey wasn‘t even looking in their direction anymore.

“Oh! You sign, too? What a coincidence to be sat next to him! We didn‘t check in early enough to be able to choose seats in the same row,“ she said, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, I actually sign for a living. I am an interpreter-in-training for Helping Hands,“ Ian replied, feeling pride well up in his chest.

It just might have been the first time he really said it out loud to a stranger. He _was_ proud. _I should be proud_ , he thought.

“Really?” Her eyes lit up with recognition. “I know that organization! Isn‘t there one located on the North Side of Chicago?”

“Yes! That’s the exact one I’m working for.”

“No shit? We just opened our own tattoo studio two blocks down from there, INK U-UP.“

“Whoa… what a small world! So both of you are tattoo artists?“ Ian wondered curiously. Mickey wasn’t the only one with a lot of visible tattoos; Ian loved how her right arm seemed to have a full sleeve tattoo covering it.

“Ha! Nooooo, Mickey‘s the artist. I am the brain, more or less.“ Mandy laughed at her own words. “I’m in charge of finances, appointments, and all the other shit Mr. Milkovich here doesn‘t want to do. I also interpret for all the hearing customers.“

Milkovich? That rang a bell for Ian. He knew a Milkovich family from the South Side, but he never heard of one of them being deaf. The Milkoviches were always the ones you didn‘t want to mess with.

Ian only personally knew one of them-- Terry Milkovich, who was old enough to maybe be their dad, and constantly in and out of prison. There were a lot of people around that house who Ian mostly thought of as people Terry “worked“ with. He might have seen kids around at some point throughout his life, but he never bothered to get too close to that house.

Their front yard looked more like a junk yard, and when Ian had to walk past their house he always sped up, or even changed sides. Terry Milkovich wasn‘t exactly known for his “friendliness“... but he _was_ known for his homophobic behavior.

Ian was grateful to have fallen off that guy’s radar.

“Say, how about you give us your card? I mean, in case we ever need an interpreter, maybe?“ the raven-haired woman stretched out her hand in Ian’s direction with a huge smile on her face.

“Oh, yeah…erm...of course!“ Ian replied, nervously searching around for one of his cards. He hadn‘t given one out yet, but he made sure to have printed out a stack shortly before this trip.

He finally remembered which backpack pocket he’d placed them in, and handed one to Mandy. Mickey must‘ve gotten distracted by Ian‘s wild search party and looked their way.

“The fuck are you doing?“ he signed at his sister.

“Nothing. He just gave me his card-- in case we need an interpreter, you know!“

“We won‘t need an... we can‘t even afford an interpreter! YOU are my interpreter!“ he signed very forcefully.

“He is from Helping Hands! And I’m keeping the card… just in case.“ Mandy tucked Ian’s card into her bra and turned on her heels to walk away. On her way back, she grabbed Ian‘s shoulder and made sure the whole plane heard her flirt. “Bye, Iaaaan! See you soon!“

“Sorry for her behavior! She is hideous,“ Mickey signed, catching Ian‘s attention. “I’m sure we won’t need an interpreter, though. She‘s just trying to get some,“ he frowned.

With a soft smile the redhead replied “Don‘t worry, I won‘t come after your sister. If you happen to have a brother though...“ he trailed off, winking flirtatiously.

Mickey, after raising both his eyebrows in a questioning manner, turned away, staring back down into his book.

 _Damn it_ , Ian thought. He was hoping for a tiny sign of this guy being gay, or at least anything BUT straight. But those things only happen in movies; meeting a cute guy on a plane… _It’s all fairy tales_ , Ian reminded himself.

Ian‘s stomach started to growl, and he remembered that Fiona packed him some pop tarts for the trip. There were still two packs left, so he got them out of his backpack and offered one to Mickey. He signed, “I know it’s not the same when they’re cold, but my sister insisted on me packing them. Want one?“

“Sure!“ Mickey replied, grabbing one of the squares, still packed in tin foil. As he reached for it, their fingers touched, and Ian‘s whole body felt electrified. He was frozen for a second, staring down at his hand.

“You good?“ Mickey asked while biting into the blueberry pop tart.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. Yeah!“ Ian straightened himself best he could in the uncomfortable plane seat.

As he was doing so their knees touched, sending another electric sensation through his whole body.

“I hope you like the blueberry ones.“ Ian signed only with his right hand, already eating with the other one. He hadn’t realized how hungry he must have gotten until he took the first bite.

“I don’t mind what flavor they are, as long as they’re sweet. I like‘em sweet,“ Mickey replied with a playful, near flirty look on his face.

Their knees were still touching, and the redhead couldn’t place if this was because of the narrow space inside the plane, or because Mickey didn’t want to pull away either. With so many different signs, Ian had no idea how to interpret the situation, leaving him confused-yet-happy with the current situation.

The rest of the plane ride was uneventful. Ian kept quietly drifting off to sleep, while Mickey was content to keep reading his book.

By the time they’d landed, a mere five seconds after the “buckle up“ signs were off, Mandy was standing right next to them and didn’t leave Ian‘s side until their paths split.

“Hey Iaaan! I‘ll call you if I...erm...we need you!“ she said, pretending to be shy.

Ian waved his goodbye to them both, signing “Yeah! See you soon?“ with a questioning look in Mickey‘s direction.

Mickey simply replied with a quick “Whatever,“ and turned around to leave Ian out of his sight, it seemed. He strode quickly in the opposite direction, with Mandy running after him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let‘s step out and visit a little part of this story from a different point of view...

**Monday, October 5th, 08:00am**

Mickey woke up to the sudden blast of sunlight directly into his eyes. The whole room was flooded with yellow rays of light.

Opening his eyes only helped to blur his vision more.

He could make out the figure of Mandy standing at the window, pulling back the drapes. Her hands hesitated on the drapes when he screamed.

“Hey!”

His sight slowly returning to him, he waited until she turned around to sign, “What the fuck, Mandy?”

“Rise and fucking shine, Sleeping Beauty,” she signed back. She walked over to stand at the end of his bed. “We have to go over all the appointments for the next three weeks. You know that I have to take some more classes in order to get my Accounting certificate.” She signed quickly, hands moving rapidly as if she were in a hurry. The stress on her face amplified her mood. “One of them got bumped up to this weekend!”

“So what?” her brother replied lazily, his hands loose from sleep. Sleep, and grumpiness. “We’ll just plan the appointments around your schedule, then. Problem solved.” He pulled his blanket up and over his head, almost covering him entirely, with only his eyes and hands sticking out. “Now get out.”

With that, he tugged the remainder of the blanket up, completely submerged and invisible to his sister. Mickey snuggled back into his pillow, squeezing his eyes shut, willing himself to fall back asleep.

But Mandy wouldn’t even consider letting him off the hook that easily. She was determined to fix this issue, and NOW.

She pulled at the end of her brother’s blanket leaving him bared to the world; almost naked, if not for his boxers. Only his feet remained covered with the warm, cozy fabric. She braced herself for the reaction she knew would immediately follow.

Mickey's entire body cringed as the cold air hit him. “The _fuck_ , asshole?” he signed quickly, and then gripped a pillow and chucked it at his sister. She ducked the attack and held her ground, arms crossed, waiting for him to stop fussing.

He shot up towards the end of the bed, bunching up the fabric in his hands and actively worked to retract the blanket from her. He became more frustrated and aggressively angry with every passing second. Every wasted second that could’ve been spent _sleeping_.

Ignoring his moodiness completely, she snapped to draw his attention to her hands. “Hey, asshole. I’m working my ass off over here for us. For YOU!” she signed. She then started the next sentence with her brother’s name sign, a modification of the sign “fight” and the letter M, to emphasize the importance of what was to come, and how much she needed him to take this seriously.

“Mickey!” She curled her fingers into the shape for the letter M followed by a motion from right to left. “Remember the tattoo convention this weekend? In two days? The one we _already booked_? The one we MUST go to?” She paused to make her he was paying attention. “I can’t go! Okay? We have to figure something out!”

Something dawned in her expression, as if the perfect plan had just hit her. She stepped away from the bed slowly, backing up in awe. “Wait… maybe I-A-N…”

Mickey interrupted with a stern and defiant “NO!”

But his sister continued, talking to herself while signing out of habit, “...His card must be here somewhere…” She turned and left his room without a word. Mickey sat there stunned. Cold, awake, and out of the conversation.

Since responding to her was futile with her out of the room and he _really_ didn’t want her to call Ian, he regretfully pulled himself out of bed, groaning in self-pity.  
Still sleepy, he waddled out of the bedroom rubbing his eyes with his palms, not even bothering to put on more than he was already wearing.

Mandy was in the middle of the couch, leaning forward intently, typing something into her phone while glancing at a card laid flat on the coffee table.

He stomped on the ground. As soon as her eyes flicked up to his, he signed with a look of fierce determination. “Don’t call that I-A-N guy. We don’t even know him!” He started pacing, and then added, “We don’t know if he’d be a good fit for us. For me!”

Mandy set her phone down next to the card to sign back to Mickey, hoping to appeal to him with reason. “But all of our usual interpreters are busy, so we have NO CHOICE but to get someone we’ve never had. And it was really nice of Ian to help you on the plane.” She curled her lip up at Mickey in Ian’s defense. “So for fuck’s sake, just let me handle this. You’ve never made this big a deal about an interim interpreter before. Stop being such a pussy.”  
She reached for her phone, but not before adding “Plus, he is _hot_.”

“And he’s _gay_ ,” Mickey replied faster than his brain was able to work out the consequences of such a statement.

This guy was messing with his head, and he didn’t like it. It wasn’t that he was worried about outing himself; his sister was one of very few people who knew, and she’d known for a long time.

Same with their grandma Margaret, who raised them. Who took them in more times than Mickey could count.

But still… it was never a topic that Mickey enjoyed talking about, and so he avoided it every chance he got.

Mickey never outright told anyone that he was gay; the ingrained fear of the kind of homophobic reaction his dad would have followed him from person to person, in every circumstance.

But Mandy figured it out on her own and asked him one day out of the blue. He didn’t deny it, he just left the room. That was all the confirmation she needed.

Knowing that his sister was nothing like their homophobic father, he felt no need to make a secret of it from then on out.

When he DID want to do something about it; if he needed to ease the pressure, he knew where to go. He knew which clubs or parks to frequent to get what he needed. He never saw any reason to have to be “out“ to the whole world.

...

Mikhailo Aleksandr Milkovich, 27 years old. Black hair, white skin, and tattoos all over his body. Deaf. Tattoo artist by trade.

Mickey was the middle of three kids, and growing up in the Milkovich house was never easy for him, for Mandy, nor for their older brother Iggy.

Their dad Terry was an evil, psychotic prick, and they were always glad when he was back in prison. That’s when their grandma would come around to look after them.

Grandma Margaret was a sweet old lady with the mouth of a Milkovich. She was the glue that kept their family bound, and taught the kids the importance of sticking together as a unit. A team.

She was the only adult in Mickey’s young life willing to learn sign language.

Since Mickey had been born deaf, Terry had never even tried to communicate with his son. The only form of communication he knew was domestic violence. Mickey had to learn fast to decide between fight or flight. He definitely knew where the best hiding spots in and around the house were from a very young age.

Grandma Milkovich never understood how her son, Terry, turned out to be the useless, violent piece of shit that he was. Nonetheless, she tried to get the kids out of the house as often as possible. It wasn’t hard to sneak them out when he was, as always, drunk and passed out.

The old lady made sure to get Mickey in as many sign language classes as possible, and made it a point to get Mandy and Iggy acclimated to using it as well.

When Mickey turned ten and Terry landed himself in prison once again, she was finally brave enough to take all three kids and what few belongings they had, and move into a tiny old apartment bordering on the North Side. There wasn’t a lot of space and so the kids shared one room, but anything was better than staying in that house.

She knew that this would upset her son, but for the sake of her grandkids she was ready to face him. She’d go all Milkovich on him, if she had to.

For as long as Mickey had been able to hold a pen, he was always drawing, creating, doodling. Not only on paper but also on walls, floors, tables...just about anywhere. He also did a lot of graffiti around their neighborhood, and this became his favorite outlet for a while.

If he did anything illegal out in the streets of Chicago, he always took Iggy or Mandy to be his look out, in case the police were about to approach.

Shortly after Mickey’s fifteenth birthday, he set out to create some new artwork. Trying out a new medium, he decided he wanted to spray a parked train.

He took Iggy with him to warn him in case anyone got close. But his brother was too busy smoking pot and didn’t seem to notice the approaching police sirens. This resulted in Mickey’s first of many trips to juvie.

As they got older, the two boys occasionally ran “errands“ for their dad, like preparing and selling stolen goods. Like guns. This was still the easiest way the Milkoviches knew of to make money and survive.

Mandy, on the other hand, saw talent in her brother‘s art and she made him consider taking this to a new level. She wanted out. Out of their criminal life, and out of having any contact at all with their asshole father.

She collected all of Mickey’s drawings that were scattered around the house and put them together in a portfolio. She then shopped it around to every Chicago tattoo parlour listed in the phone book.

After searching for a while, she found Ben. Ben owned a tattoo studio a bit outside of downtown Chicago, and was willing to let Mickey begin an apprenticeship. He wasn’t only an amazing artist, but he also knew some basic ASL. It took Mandy a while to convince her brother, but he finally gave in and accepted the offer of formal training.

The pay wasn’t much, but Mickey learned everything there was to know about the art of tattooing during his time there.

A few years later, Mandy was able to persuade Mickey into opening up their very own tattoo shop, “INK U-UP“ together on Chicago’s North Side. They even hired Iggy as their Mr. Fix It.

As their new shop started to gained attention, customers, and an impressive amount of income, Mickey and Mandy moved into a 2-bedroom apartment right next to their grandma’s. Iggy, in true Iggy fashion, continued to hop between crashing on either of their couches.

...

“He‘s _what_?“ Mandy replied with a smirk. “So THAT’S where this is coming from.“ Her grin grew bigger. “You _like_ him!“.

“Bullshit!“ Her accusations got Mickey riled up in no time. He had no idea why that Ian guy refused to leave his damn mind, and he hated his sister for having the time of her life realizing it. “Wipe that shit eating grin off your face and get someone we know.“

The black haired girl retorted “Why don’t you want me to call him? Why would you know anything about him being gay or straight? YOU think he’s hot, don’t you?“ She persisted, wiggling her eyebrows. “ _Don’t you_?“

“I DO NOT.” He did, and he was sure this would not end well, “This is fucking bullshit!“

Mickey didn’t know what to do with the weird feelings constantly creeping up his neck since the very day he got stuck with the redhead sitting next to him on the plane.

Whenever he closed his eyes, he could still taste the blueberry poptart. He could still feel Ian‘s knee touching his own. He hated not being in control of something as simple as a feeling or a thought. This was something he had never had a problem with before, at least not in a romantic kind of way.

But now this was starting to affect his personal life, and he didn’t like it. Since they got home from that fateful plane ride, Mickey reassured himself that if he never saw Ian again, then this whole weird situation would fade away over time, and he could go back to normal.

And now he dreaded the possibility of meeting up with that damned redhead again, as it was bound to only make things worse.

Hell, just hearing his name already triggered him this badly. But as he knew his sister. Now that she’d caught him red handed, she wasn’t going to let this go.

But maybe Mickey then thought, _maybe_ this was all in his head. Maybe he thought he had a crush simply because the guy had helped him with his drink, and there was NOTHING more to it than that.

“Know what? Fuck off, call whoever the fuck you want. I don’t care,“ he signed.

And just like that, Mandy had instantly placed her phone at her ear as if she had been waiting all along for her brother’s go ahead.

Maybe meeting Ian again would show him that there was actually nothing to worry about. Nothing to think about.

“I‘m going back to bed!“ he signed, but Mandy was waving him off without paying him any attention, already taking into her phone.

Mickey stomped back into his room. Any chance he had of falling back to sleep was dashed. Instead, he laid in bed and staring at the ceiling, pondering the different ways this could crash and burn.

Or if, maybe, this really was the best solution.

Maybe all of this would stop, and he could get rid of all the thoughts, weird feelings, and dreams. Maybe...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to our usual point of view…let’s see what happens when Ian hears the news...

**Monday, October 5th, 08:45am**

“Perfect! I‘ll be there Saturday 8am, McCormick Place. Thanks! Bye!“ Ian pushed the red button on his phone, staring at it with a huge smile forming on his face as he sat on a stool at the kitchen counter, his feet dangling playfully off the bars.

“Who was that?“ his older brother Lip asked, walking by, lighting a cigarette with a curious expression. He hadn’t seen his brother this giddy in a long time.

“Oh. Erm. Just booked my first job as an interpreter“ he said, trying to sound casual while the electric feeling, which had by now become _so well known_ , tangled in his stomach.

"Oh yeah? That’s amazing! Who are you interpreting for?"

"Uh...just for a tattoo artist at the convention this weekend" Ian shrugged, trying to hide that his excitement for the customer was overruling the excitement over getting his first job.

“Oh wow! Neat. Can you get me a ticket?“ Lip winked. “But more importantly...why the hell are you beaming like the goddamn sun itself?"

A blush crept up Ian's neck. He felt as if he’d been caught red handed. The heat rose into his cheeks turning them red instantly, and he wasn’t sure how to get out of this situation without his brother annoyingly pushing for details. “It‘s nothing,“ Ian tried.

“Yeah, ‘nothing’ makes me constantly blush as well!“ his older brother laughed. taking another hit of the burning nicotine.

The tall redhead stole the cigarette out of his brother's fingers and inhaled deep, trying to calm his nerves. He knew that Lip was never going to let go anyways, so he tried, “Well, there's this guy..."

“God help us all!" his brother interrupted to mock him.

Ian shoved his brother’s shoulder playfully, "Oh shut up! I am trying to tell you a serious story over here!“ He threw his hands into the air dramatically.

“Sorry, yes, continue, please!” Lip said, stealing his cigarette back and pretending to be listening very seriously to whatever was coming.

“Alright. So. I met him on a plane a couple days ago and helped him with... Wait, I need a haircut.“ He brushed his hair back with his fingers. “Where can I get a quick appointment?” He threw his plans to stay calm overboard, running aimlessly around the kitchen.

“IAN!” Lip stopped him.

“What?” Ian countered.

“Just _stop_! What are you even looking for?”

“I told you, I need a hairdresser!”

“And you’re hoping to find one under the sink? Take your damn phone and check the internet for appointments, genius!”

“Right, right, good idea” Ian pulled his phone out of his pocket swiping up and down, left and right, obviously unsure of what he was doing.

“So…you met some dude on a plane, _and…_?” Lip tried to bring Ian back to the original theme of this conversation.

“Yeah, well…his sister Mandy just called me and -"

"Wait, hold up. Mandy - as in Mandy fucking Milkovich?"

Ian's face flushed again. Where did Lip know those people from? "Uh...yeah?“

"And you're talking about her brother, Mason? Michael?"

"Mickey," Ian corrected.

Lip took a deep inhale of his cigarette, "Don't do this Ian. Milkoviches only mean trouble."

Lip's harsh words lit a fire inside the pit of his stomach, the urge to defend the family taking over him. "Didn't look like trouble to me," he said.

Lip shrugged, "Hello? Ian? You ever heard of Terry Milkovich? Their dad! Are we even living in the same neighborhood? Jesus!" He creased his forehead in confusion. "I think he even tried to kill Frank once."

"And? Many people want Frank dead. Hell, most of our family does! What does that even have to do with Mickey?" Ian's voice got more irritated with every passing second of this conversation.

"Because Terry never does the shit of his work alone. He always sends others to do it for him. Including his family, I am sure." Lip explained, taking another hit of the burning nicotine.

Ian turned to him dead serious, "Name ONE thing Mickey has done."

Lip huffed a sarcastic laugh, "I don't know, man. But that doesn't mean..."

"See? You don't know shit! So shut the fuck up and enlighten people who at least give a shit. Jesus."

With that, the back door of the kitchen flung open and crashed against the wall. Both brothers winced at the loud noise. “What up, fuckers?“ Carl signed, walking into the house as if he owned it.

Both, Ian and Lip waved at him as a greeting, still reflecting the mood they just talked themselves into. “One day you will crash the house down coming in like that!“ Lip signed at his younger brother.

“What happened? The tension here is almost visible!“ Carl questioned and let himself fall on a chair at the kitchen table.

“Nothing“ Ian replied, but Lip interrupted.

“Your big bro here got his first real job as an interpreter...“ he paused “...and already has a crush on the customer.“

“I do not have a...“ Ian started moving his hands, but stopped to change topics. “Carl, how are you doing? How‘s life? Haven’t seen you in a while.“ He tried in vain to sidetrack the conversation.

“Same as always. But who‘s the guy?“ Carl replied, getting the topic back on track.

“M-I-C-K-E-Y M-I-L-K-O-V-I-C-H“ Lip spelled out his name.

“Oooh, that the guy with the new tattoo shop up on the North Side, right?“ Carl countered. “I just got my latest tattoo there! That guy’s got talent! Check it out!“ Carl pulled up his shirt pointing at his new, still covered in plastic wrap, skull tattoo on his chest.

“Yeah, that’s the one,“ Ian signed “And the new tat looks lit!“

“Perfect!“ Carl continued “So...after fucking him, can you get me a discount for my next tattoo?“

“You guys are hideous!“ Ian walked towards the stairs to go up to his room.

Carl grabbed his arm pulling him back “Proud of you, big bro!“ he signed.

“Yeah! Really proud!“ Lip added.

“Thank you“ Ian hugged his little brother and threw Lip a bird while doing so.

“Don’t forget my discount, though.“ Carl continued laughing out loud.

Ian, not able to stay mad at those two idiots for long anyways, had both his middle fingers up in their directions walking up the stairs backwards. They both had a great laugh on his expense as he turned around to walk up father to his room.

 _It’s a date, no, it‘s a job. Just a job_ , he tried to convince himself. Lying in bed he stared at the ceiling. _Just a job…_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's find out what happens at Ian's very first real job...

**Saturday, October 10th, 07:30am**

Ian arrived at McCormick Place early, making an invested effort to find his way around. With the “crew member“ pass that Mandy had sent him via email, he was let into the building immediately. He saw a lot of tattoo artists just beginning to set up their slots as he passed by on his hunt for slot 112.

Ian and Mandy had been texting more and more lately, and not just about the details for the job. Their conversations covered all sorts of different topics, and it felt like they had known each other forever. Ian was happy to have someone outside his family and coworker circle to talk to for a change. The past few years had consisted solely of studying, volunteering for Helping Hands, and being there for his family.

And now the thought of meeting up with Mickey again was keeping Ian up at night, constantly overthinking the situation. How could he sleep, knowing he’d be meeting up with the man again, soon… very soon.

The text Mandy sent him last night didn’t help matters, either.

**Mandy  
11:01pm:** _Have fun with my brother tomorrow ;)_

This could have been just Mandy wishing him good luck for his first job, but it could have just as much been a hint. A hint that she knew about Ian‘s crush he had on the man. But how could she? He’d never told her! Never once was he brave enough to ask about her brother.

As Ian passed slot 100, he caught sight of Mickey unpacking his equipment, and waved as soon as Mickey looked in his direction. The black haired man turned away and continued to unpack without acknowledgement. _What a start_ , Ian thought.

Once he reached the table, Ian couldn’t resist the urge to covertly check out Mickey‘s body. Even though it was pretty cold outside, the smaller man was only wearing a shirt with cut off sleeves, showcasing both of his arms-- fully covered in tattoos. Damn did he look fit!

Mickey waving a hand in front of Ian’s face startled him out of his stare. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to...“

“Whatever. You ready to do this, R-E-D?“ Mickey interrupted, raising his eyebrows.

“Yes!“ he replied with a shy smile. “Sure!“ Still unable to pull his gaze away from the man in front of him, Ian was finally able to read the tattoos on Mickey‘s fingers. The right hand spelled “F U C K“ and the left hand “U - U P“.

Fuck you up - well, that was a statement, Ian thought. A guy one should not mess with. But Ian was there for a job. Nothing more. Nothing less.

The smaller man just rolled his eyes again and turned around. Damn, Mickey wasn’t going to make this first job an easy one.

The tables were already set up for their station, and the huge sign above their spot read “INK U-UP“. Ian instantly made the connection to Mickey’s knuckle tattoos. _Must‘ve been Mandy “The Brain”s clever play on words_ , he thought to himself, giggling at his own sense of humor.

After spreading out several folders with new drafts of current and older works in them, Mickey looked Ian up and down with an unmistakable intent before signing “You got a hair cut for today?” not even trying to hold back a loud laugh that filled the hall.

_Damn it. He noticed_. “No!? I did NOT! I had the appointment booked for weeks already. And they aren’t even much shorter. How did you even notice?“ He blushed, rolling his eyes at Mickey, his nerves growing frenzied. “You remember me that well from the plane ride?”

“Whatever.“ Mickey pivoted away from the topic. “For today, I need you to help customers get what they want. Information or a tattoo. You think you can do this?“ he signed with a smirk.

“I am trained for this, you know?“ Ian replied, throwing Mickey a death glare. “I know how interpreting works!“ he emphasized, making sure Mickey realized how determined he was.

“All right, all right, Mr. Know-it-all. We‘ll see.“ Mickey hit back, flipping through his books.

The first customer came to a halt in front of the table, throwing Ian right into interpreting.

During the first hour a few hearing customers stopped by to ask some questions and gather information. Ian, standing opposite of Mickey next to the customers, interpreted everything that was said and signed.

After a short break, Ian felt his phone buzz. Since it was quiet at the moment, he took it out to scroll through his notifications. Seven new messages from Mandy. Ian was shocked how he didn’t feel any of them up until now.

**Mandy  
7:30am:** _Ian, good luck for today!_  
 **7:35am:** _You got this!_  
 **7:50am:** _oh, and a heads up: my dumbass brother left in a grumpy mood very early today._  
 **7:52am:** _Don’t let him bother you!_  
 **8:10am:** _You found everything alright? The pass worked?_  
 **8:12am:** _Keep me posted!_  
 **8:20am:** _everything okay with you 2?_

It must have seemed like he was ignoring her, which of course, he was not! He quickly typed a response.

**9:10am:** _Sorry, a lot of customers already. Mickey is alright._

Mickey waved an impatient hand between Ian’s face and his phone. He glanced up to see him sign, “Customers approaching.“

**9:12am:** _Gotta go. More customers. Ttyl!_

He put his phone back into his pocket as two men stopped at their stand. They appeared to be a couple, holding hands and asking a lot of questions about a tattoo they both wanted to get in the same spot that day. Ian interpreted skillfully, ping ponging back and forth.

Mickey signed “You sure you want a mutual tattoo? That’s gay as shit!“

Ian cringed at that last sentence, but he had learned all through his training that interpreting is not about your own opinion. It is just about giving someone your voice. So he spoke the words exactly as Mickey had signed them.

“Yeah, we know! Don’t you see that we indeed ARE GAY?“ the taller of the two laughed, and kissed his partner on the lips, surprising Ian.

“Alright, alright. Let’s get you two queens new jewelry! Come on over here. Who‘s first?“ Mickey signed, followed by Ian speaking it out loud.

During the tattooing session there wasn’t a lot of interpreting to be done, so Ian took the opportunity to focus on watching Mickey work. It was fascinating to see how this was completely collecting him. In that very moment it seemed like he saw a different Mickey. No attitude, angry aura, no invisible shield up. It was amazing for Ian to see almost soft lines on the man‘s face.

The closer it got to lunch time, the fewer people stopped by. When a guy showed up, looking through the books and not talking to anyone right away, Mickey waved between the book and that guy‘s stare and started signing. Ian was positioning himself next to the customer and about to start translating but suddenly felt lost. He didn’t even get half the things Mickey signed and felt completely thrown off. He tried to at least translate what he understood, but was spiralling and questioning his own abilities.

Mickey stopped, raising both his eyebrows in recognition that Ian was lost, very lost. Ian looked to his left and saw the man signing back to Mickey “What‘s up with that dude?“

Ian turned back to face Mickey, realizing that he was already holding his belly laughing at Ian.

The redhead signed, a bit annoyed, making sure Mickeys saw him “What are you laughing about? What’s going on?“

Trying to contain himself, Mickey replied “You can stop interpreting, he can’t hear you anyways. That‘s S-A-M“ he spelled, followed by that guy’s name sign, “one of my oldest friends. He’s deaf. We met as kids at those sign language classes my grandma dragged me and my siblings to. We often made up our own signs back when we were still figuring out how sign language works.“

“Very funny“ Ian countered, making a mental note about the mentioned grandma. It was the first time he had heard about a grandma. Not even Lip had mentioned her.

“I was just messing with you! Go take a break, get something to eat! We are good here.“ Mickey waved Ian off and turned back to face Sam.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's find out what happens, when Ian tries to get Mickey out of his comfort zone...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate chapter is here! 
> 
> I wanted to thank my friends stars_fall_on and Nicrenkel again for everything! I could have never wirtten this story without you guys! 
> 
> Stars...this chapter would not have happened without your ideas and HUGE help, and Nic, without your amazing betaing and pep talking skills, I am not sure I would have been brave enough to post it. so THANK YOU guys!
> 
> and now...have a good read everyone! Last chapter will be posted next Friday!

**Saturday, October 10th, 05:30pm**

As the time passed by, the crowd of customers had thinned out, leaving Ian with some spare time to peruse Mickey’s previous works.

Mickey eyeballed the book as Ian flipped through it, pausing from resetting the table to his visual appeal standards to reach for it.

Their hands touched, sending an electric thrill through Ian’s whole body. The moment was nothing short of intimate-- at least, it felt that way to Ian.

But it seemed he hadn’t let go fast enough as Mickey threw Ian’s hands off of his own. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” the smaller man signed with his brows furrowed.

“Nothing,” Ian replied, trying and failing to look casual. “Was just looking at a few of your works.”

“Yeah right, Touchy. Get back to the front of the desk and stay in your spot.” Mickey pointed to show Ian the way with condescending impatience.

“Hey!” a customer piped up as Ian rounded the table. _Thank god,_ Ian thought, not wanting the tension between them to grow any bigger than it already had.

Ian’s eyebrows raised high as he noticed how hot the man was, now sidled up next to him.

“Hey,” Ian replied with a nod. A glance at his employer showed that the exchange hadn’t gone unnoticed; Mickey scowled angrily before waving a “Hello” to the customer.

“Wow, you’ve got some pretty cool art drafts, here," he stated, as he looked around Mickey's booth, Ian signing the words beside him.

"Thanks," Ian translated, after Mickey put his hand to his chin and backed away. It earned the guy's attention.

"Oh, so YOU are the artist?" he asked, giving Ian a sweet smile, "I thought it was the guy with the tattoos all over." He nodded to the black haired man, sitting on his chair, his arms crossed in front of his chest defensively.

"Nah," Ian chuckled, ruffling his hair as a nervous mannerism, "I'm just his interpreter. Mickey's deaf, so I'm translating for him."

"Oh, wow!" The guy tilted his body towards the redhead, by now having caught on to Ian's attraction for him. _Though no one could ever compete with Mickey,_ Ian thought to himself. _But why turn down a little flirt with a sexy guy?_

Especially when it was happening right in front of his crush, whose sexual orientation was still a bit of a mystery to Ian. Time to get some light into the dark.

"That's such a cool job!" the man continued, obviously getting on board with the flirtation, "You're helping people. That's so kind of you."

"Yo," Mickey signed to Ian, "tell numbnuts I'm not sick or dumb. I can read lips, you know? Either he tells me what he wants or gets the fuck outta here and lets other people get a closer look."

Ian smiled at Mickey's slightly riled up mood. He could only hope this means--

"What's he saying?" the guy interrupted his thoughts.

"Uh," Ian tried to think of something NICER, since he really didn’t want this guy to leave just yet "he asks if you're interested in a new tattoo." He knew very well that this wasn’t professional of him, but Ian wanted to get Mickey out of his comfort zone. He had to at least try to help, especially when it came to the success of his business.

“Yeah, I did NOT," Mickey rolled his eyes at him.

"This, here!" The guy ran his fingertips over Mickey's draft of a screaming lion in geometric shapes, "Something like that, for the right side of my chest." He then turned to Ian and pulled his already deeply cut out shirt further down, baring his muscular chest, "Do you think it would fit?" He winked at the redhead, who's jaw gaped open in surprise.

"No, it wouldn't fit, since my tattoos aren't made for dumbasses," Mickey signed. Ian was now smirking triumphantly, since it looked like the guy hitting on Ian seemed to bring Mickey's blood to boil. A win, he thought.

"I think it would fit perfectly," Ian agreed teasingly, "and Mickey would LOVE to do that, right Mick?" He smiled at the black haired man, who clenched his jaw, before clicking his tongue. It was still his business. He gave them a half-hearted thumbs up.

"That is SO COOL," the guy cheered excitedly, obviously not picking up on Mickey's brashness. "And will you be there, too? You know, to translate my wishes for me?" the guy asked Ian, obviously flirting.

In his periphery, the redhead saw Mickey rolling his eyes hard, pleasing Ian even more. "Maybe," he shrugged, "if Mickey is satisfied with my work, then maybe he'll book me again."

"I'm sure he is," the guy said almost simultaneously to Mickey's hands signing, "Yeah, I'm not. This is not a fucking dating company here."

Ian's grin spread wider, "Yeah, I'm sure my charm will do the trick." He winked at Mickey, who was pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

Ian thought he had gotten him right where he wanted him.

“Alright, thank you both for all the information. I hope to see you around somewhere.“ He gave one last sultry look at Ian and waved goodbye to Mickey as he left the stand.

Ian kept looking as the man departed, prompting Mickey to wave a hand in front of his face.

“Hello! You even remember what you’re here for? You are _my_ interpreter! Meaning you ONLY translate. No adding and changing. What did you even learn at that dumb organization?“

“I’m sorry.“ Ian sheepishly brought his fist to his chest, making a circling movement. This plan had taken a turn Ian didn’t want. “I didn’t mean to...“

But Mickey’s mood and expression had already shifted from annoyed to angry, and he interrupted Ian’s apology. “Yeah. Whatever.“ He turned around to continue cleaning his tattooing instruments, not even wanting to see Ian try to explain himself.

Ian’s heart pounded in his chest. He could feel the anxiety creeping through his veins; the sense of dread that usually followed one of his well-meaning attempts gone wrong.

As if he could read his fears, Mickey turned back to face Ian, signing “You know what? It’s late anyways. You can leave. I don’t need someone distracting potential customers here. I need an interpreter...“ The black haired man drew his palm over his face “...and I am definitely done with you for today anyways. So leave.“

Ian did not see this coming, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t hurt. “Sorry, really, I didn’t mean to--”

“Are you not watching what I’m saying? Need a closer look?“ he signed forcefully. “We’re done here! GET LOST!“

At that he turned away without another look back.

A million thoughts went spiraling through Ian’s mind. He had put his own job at risk by making Mickey mad, he’d flirted with a man he wasn’t nearly as interested in as he was with Mickey, and he had no idea if Mickey would be interested in Ian in a romantic way to begin with. He didn’t even know Mickey’s sexual orientation.

Since Ian didn’t want to get into an even bigger fight or make the situation worse, he took his jacket and left the stand, looking back a few more times, hoping Mickey would change his mind. But he could tell from where he stood that Mickey wasn’t messing around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any kind of feedback is appreciated! (:


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh Ian, what were you thinking?
> 
> Come with me on this last ride and see what happens next, after Ian messed up by trying too hard...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright...this is it! The last chapter of this little AU that I really really enjoyed writing and I really loved to get lost in!
> 
> I am very glad that I was brave enough to write AND post this story, and I want to thank my amazing friends again, for always believing in me and never letting me give up. Without your guys talent, pep talks and help I would have never made it, so THANK YOU stars_fall_on and Nicrenkel!!
> 
> Also a huge THANK YOU to everyone who decided to give this story a try. Thanks to everyone who thought it was good enough to leave kudos and/or comments! I love them all and really appreciate the support!
> 
> And now: go read and (hopefully) enjoy that last chapter!
> 
> <3

**Saturday, October 10th, 06:00pm**

  
Ian stepped out of the big hall, putting on his jacket and taking a deep breath, inhaling the cold October air. He sat down at a nearby bench reviewing everything that had just happened. He lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply and got lost in thought.

“Get LOST!“ he saw Mickey signing over and over again in his memory. Why wasn’t he able to just push Mickey out of his thoughts? He clearly wasn’t interested and this was just a job. It was just a job. Not a date or anything close to that. He took another hit of the burning nicotine. “Just a job,“ he repeated out loud to try and convince himself.

After what felt like only seconds had passed Ian checked his phone, realizing that he was already sitting there for more than 45 minutes and it was starting to get dark.

He saw some texts and a missed call from Mandy. _Oh god, Mandy!_ Ian thought. She won’t be happy about what happened. He is her brother after all. Ian decided to send her a text.

**Ian, 06:45pm:** _I messed up. Please don’t hate me! I‘m sorry. :/_

**Mandy, 06:50 pm:** _whatever happened, I know my brother can be a dick. Don’t worry about it._

If only she knew. He was the dick. Not Mickey. But he still didn‘t have the guts to just tell her how madly he fell for her brother the very second he saw him.

Starting to realize how cold he had already gotten, Ian put the phone back into his pocket, deciding to call Mandy later when he’s home. _Home. Yes._ He just wanted to go home and drown in self pity.

Crossing the road from McCormick place he stopped when he saw the L pass by. He sighed, knowing at that time of day he had to wait forever for the next train to come.

Not realizing he was standing in the middle of the road suddenly a car honk brought him back to reality. _Could this day get any worse?_

His hands forming fists in the pockets of his jacket pushing it down, he got off the road, looking at his feet, walking fast. He just wanted to be anywhere but there and start to question his life decisions. Ian hated himself for risking his reputation at his first real job and even more for not being able to stop thinking about Mickey.

He was already back on the sidewalk, but the car kept honking at him. “WHAT?“ he screamed in anger looking to his left at an old red Honda, ready to fight.

He froze like he had seen a ghost.

“Jaywalking is illegal“ Mickey signed looking out the car window.

_What?_

_Why?_

_How?_

A thousand questions popped into Ian‘s head, not being able to assess the situation.

“You want a ride home?“ Mickey asked.

WHAT? Why would he ask that now? “No, I‘m good.“ Ian replied and kept walking. He was still overthinking what happened earlier and all of this just didn’t make any sense.

Mickey kept driving within Ian’s walking speed and when Ian stopped and turned to him he signed, “Come on, get in, Red!“ - this time using the sign for RED but using the “i“ finger, not spelling it anymore. _Did Mickey just sign nickname him?_

Ian, still confused and very much trying to resist the urge to just jump into that fucking passenger seat, turned away for a second looking up in the sky. He tried to calm his excited breathing.

Shakily, he walked over to the car, slowly. Throwing all his good thoughts about how to behave next to Mickey overboard, he put on a bit of an attitude. “You sure you can handle my presence for the ride?“ he signed standing next to the open car door.

“Stop being so dramatic and get in already, F-R-E-C-K-L-E-S.“

The tall red head was still not sure what to make out of that situation. But he also wasn’t able to resist accepting the offer.

The car ride was quiet, apart for a few directions Ian gave Mickey to help him find the way to his childhood home.

The taller man was still trying to make sense of the situation he suddenly found himself in. Mickey Milkovich, the guy who he wasn’t able to push out of his thoughts, the guy who just told him to “Get lost“. That guy was now giving him a ride home. He offered. He almost begged him to get into the car.

But Ian felt relaxed. Almost as if Mickey had a calming effect on him. Almost as if just being in his presence made his mood change instantly. Ian got more confused but equally happier with every passing second.

Mickey stopped right in front of Ian‘s house and turned to face him. “Thank you for coming at such a short notice and interpreting for me today.“

Ian looked at Mickey with bright eyes and replied exaggeratedly, being shocked. “WHAT? A -Thank you- from the ever so grumpy Mickey? Wow! How did I deserve this?“ A huge sarcastic grin formed on his lips.

“Fuck you, G-A-L-L-A-G-H-E-R!“ the black haired man countered with a smirk, throwing his fist in Ian‘s direction ready to punch him on his upper arm. Ian was quick, and he caught Mickey’s hand mid air.

All of a sudden the world around them stopped and that well known electric feeling rushed through Ian‘s body again.

Instead of letting go immediately, the redhead kept holding on to Mickey’s hand, staring into Mickey’s bright blue eyes which sparkled in the light of the night sky. It seemed Mickey was taken aback, just as much as Ian was because he didn’t even try to retract his arm. They just kept staring at the other one, both seemed frozen and unable to move.

The tension grew and Ian’s stomach got all fluttery. Without even thinking about consequences he leaned in to get closer to the man in front of him. Mickey mirrored his action and their foreheads almost touched. Ian looked deep in the bluest eyes he had ever seen, still holding onto Mickey’s fist.

What felt like an eternity but was maybe only seconds later Ian started to regain consciousness and realized what he just did.

He immediately took his head back a few inches and let go of Mickey's hand. He was ready to apologize and hoped this wouldn’t end worse than what happened at McCormick Place.

Ian wanted to sign “Sorry“ and timidly brought his right fist to his chest, shaking, but mid action Mickey grabbed his face with both his hands and crashed their lips together.

Their tongues collided and found their way into the other one’s mouths. Ian‘s brain switched into survival mode and he kissed Mickey back as if his life depended on it.

Uncountable electric sensations ran through Ian's whole body as their tongues mingled and hot breaths were exchanged. Ian felt a warmth flooding his whole body that he had never known before.

Mickey kept reaching into Ian‘s red locks pulling him in, making sure he can’t break the kiss, just as Ian wasn’t going to even try to let go of him. Mickey. _His Mickey_.

Mickey’s loud moans filled the small space of his car and Ian couldn’t hold back a smile while still being very into kissing this gorgeous man in front of him.

Mickey realized Ian’s cute smile and took his head back a bit, keeping his left hand onto Ian‘s face and never stopping the stroking of Ian’s flushed red cheek with his thumb, he let go of Ian with only his right hand and signed “What?“ with a challenging smile wiggling his eyebrows.

“Nothing.“ Ian countered equally with only one hand, pulling him into another heated kiss. His left hand was still interlocked in Mickey’s black hair and he never ever wanted to let go.

Both panting and still staring at each other, neither of them seemed to want to let the other one go.

Ian pointed at the house and signed “Gotta go,“ watching Mickey nod in agreement. “But maybe you‘ll need an interpreter again, soon?“ he questioned, already opening the passenger door.

“Maybe I will.“ Mickey signed with a crooked smile, “I guess I‘ll see you around, Red!“

“I guess you will,“ Ian replied, getting out of the car.

Up on the porch, the tall redhead looked back one more time while opening the front house door to see Mickey still watching him. Once inside the Gallagher house, he leaned against the old door with his back, trying to steady his breathing, with a renewed smile that could not be tamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this ending was satisfying for everyone! ;)
> 
> Thank you for reading! Kudos and/or comments and feedback are, as always, very appreciated!!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's go back in time a bit and accompany Mickey along the way...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone and Merry Christmas!  
> So…I really wanted to switch perspective for the last chapter of this story – this is not really the story going forward, it is more the end of the story again, but from Mickey’s POV. 
> 
> I want to thank my AMAZING beta Nicrenkl for always being there throughout this whole story! Thank you for betaing and also for being an amazing friend and supporter!
> 
> I really hope that some of you enjoy this chapter as a little read under the christmas tree or just while relaxing before this crazy year ends.

**Saturday, October 10th, 05:45pm**

“Get lost!“ Mickey signed angrily. Unable to cope with the current situation, he turned back to face his tattooing instruments.

He snatched up the first thing he saw and pretended to clean it. There really wasn’t anything to do, but he needed something to keep him busy. The better option would have been a punching bag, but since his work equipment was the only thing available, it seemed like the most logical choice.

Glancing to his left, he caught Ian’s reflection in the mirror. The mirror that was supposed to only show the happy faces of satisfied customers. That mirror now showed a broken Ian Gallagher.

Mickey side-eyed him carefully, not wanting that damned redhead to catch him in the act. He pretended not to notice when Ian took his jacket and lingered, staring at Mickey for a while before taking off. He looked back at him a few times, stopping and turning around before ultimately deciding to leave.

Well, the redhead did as he was told. Mickey had told him to _get lost_ , but the fact that he really left didn’t feel anywhere close to how he wanted it to. It felt wrong.

Was he being too harsh? NO! The taller man just didn’t do his job right, and that’s what he was there for. Not flirting with potential customers.

Even though he might have gotten this guy to let Mickey put some ink into him, it didn’t change the unprofessional behavior.

When Mickey decided to pack up and go home, a guy showed up in front of his stand, moving his lips with his face tilted down, perusing the books.

Mickey, snapping to get the guys attention, started to sign and speak the words out loud at the same time. “Slow down!“ He put his index finger to his ear and with a round movement to his mouth, “I am deaf!“

Growing up, Mickey had a lot of speech therapy and he exactly knew how using his voice would make certain situations in the hearing world way easier, he just never really wanted to. He didn’t like to make an effort for others when not many people ever made an effort on his behalf. He didn’t see why it should always be him who went the extra mile.

The guy rolled his eyes and seemed to muttered something before bailing. Incensed, Mickey sped after him, screaming, “Hey Fuckface!“ He voiced it, remembering every tiny detail of speech therapy to not mess up the words coming from his mouth.

The guy turned around with a condescending glare, nearly tripping with the force of Mickey’s hand pushing into his chest. Mickey panted while forming the words, “You think you are better than me because you are hearing?“ He pushed again. “Fuck you!“

He grabbed the guy with his left hand by the collar of his t-shirt, seeing his lips move. It could have been “sorry“ or anything else for that matter. He was way too angry to even try to lip read now.

Mickey already had his right fist up in the air about to throw a punch when the image of Mandy materialized in his mind, pleading with him to stop, telling him how bad this behavior was for the business. His sister’s worried face was enough to deflate the rage within him, his fist hovering in the air.

A quick look around the big hall made him realize how much attention he had already drawn to this situation. He exhaled heavily as he pushed the guy away, the stranger running off as fast as his feet could carry him.

The onlookers played nonchalant, as if they hadn’t been starring two seconds ago.

Not really caring about what anyone else thought, Mickey headed back, restraining himself from showing them all his favorite two fingers.

His phone vibrated in his pocket.

 **Mandy:** What’s up with you two assholes?! Why is Ian not responding to any of my texts or calls?

 **Mickey:** Fuck off! The fuck should I know why that douchbag won't reply?! He is gone already anyways!

Mickey typed in anger and got more frustrated every passing second. That fucking guy. Fucking convention. Fucking Mandy. Fucking Gallagher. Yes. It’s all his fault.

 **Mandy:** WHAT? Why? What did you do?

 **Mickey:** Me? Why me? He was being an unprofessional asshole, so I told him to leave!

 **Mandy:** God, you are such a hypocrite! You have never done anything wrong, huh?  
Fucking moron!

 **Mickey:** None of your business. He‘s gone. So get the fuck off my back.

 **Mandy:** This is MY business too, you know?! Or is this not even about THAT business?

 **Mickey:** Fuck you!

 **Mandy:** Stop being such a pussy and admit, to yourself at least, that you actually like him and are causing unnecessary drama!

Mickey deleted that last message from his sister and locked his phone, staring at the black screen mirroring his angry expression - looking back at him.

Was she right? NO! This wasn’t about Ian, this was about a job.

Or was he being a hypocrite?

...

Mickey got into his old, red Honda, trying to empty his thoughts, not ready to start the car engine just yet. He kept staring at the steering wheel. Why was he unable to push that damn redhead out of his mind?

The big hall loomed from the front window, almost as if it was mocking him. Glancing at the entrance, he was surprised to spot Ian. The tall man sat at a bench like a beaten puppy, sad and frustrated. This stung more than Mickey would have ever admitted to anyone.

His thoughts spiraled as he watched Ian put his phone into his pocket and get up, begging him silently to walk away and never contact him again. To spare himself the trouble of getting involved with a Milkovich.

But there was something else creeping up in his body, mixed with a feeling Mickey had never known before: empathy. For some reason, it hurt him to see the other man broken. For some weird and confusing reason, he wanted to see Ian smile again. He wanted to be the reason for his happiness, not his pain.

The car vibrated around him. Glancing to his right, he found the source of the rattling as the L passed by.

Ian stood frozen in the middle of the street, staring devastated at the passing train; his only ride home hurtling off without him.

Mickey's heart pounded and he couldn’t prevent himself from thinking that he caused parts of this sadness. He shouldn’t have been that harsh.

Damn it, WHY couldn’t he just stop thinking about it? Why did he even care if some random guy was happy or sad or whatever? He didn’t before. He shouldn’t now. He didn’t want to.

He DID. He cared. _Damn it!_

Mickey started the car and drove towards the tall man who was still staring at the now-empty tracks. Coming to a halt right in front of him, he honked at Ian to get his attention. 

The only effect it had was getting Ian to move off the road entirely. He didn’t even look anywhere except his feet.

Making that damn guy smile again was becoming his mission. Mickey wasn’t even able to place this urge or understand where it came from. He didn’t know why, but it took over his whole body and brain.

He kept honking, trying to get Ian's attention. The redhead's expression shifted from sad to angry as he turned to face the car. Screaming, it would seem.

Ignoring the mood, Mickey signed “Jaywalking is illegal!“ and put on a challenging smile. “You want a ride home?“ he added, putting that question mark in place with raised eyebrows.

Why would he offer him a ride? What was he doing? Was he even thinking?

All he got in return was “No! I‘m good“ as Ian kept walking down the sidewalk.

Mickey pressed his foot onto the pedal, keeping up with Ian’s pace, willing the redhead to face him again. He didn’t know why this had become so important to him, but the urge to make it up to Ian got stronger and stronger, and he was powerless to resist it.

When Ian finally met his gaze, Mickey's fingers began to move in spite of his instinct to flee. He signed “Come on, get in, Red“ using the “i“ finger to do the sign for red.

Mickey had thought from the moment he first saw Ian's name sign that it kind of fit; that he must’ve been the happy big brother all his life.

Still, it didn’t feel right for the situation they found themselves in. He had this sign in mind for Ian since the first time they met and he hoped that Ian would realize what he had just done. Name signs are almost sacred in deaf culture and he knew that Ian would know about that.

This was also his way of showing affection. Of saying “sorry“ without having to say it.

To Mickey’s pleasant surprise, Ian walked over to the car and opened the passenger door, signing “You sure you can handle my presence for the ride?“

...

On his way to the Gallagher house, Mickey wasn’t able to sort all the thoughts popping into his head. 

Apart from giving Mickey directions, Ian had kept his hands stilled. Did this mean Ian was still mad? What should he say? Should he even bother saying anything at all? Damn it. Ian already pointed at a house on the right side of the road.

Mickey stopped the car and shifted it into park. He turned right and made contact with those big green puppy eyes, which made it even harder for him to think.

“Thank you for coming at such short notice.“ He thought this was appropriate, since it was true. “And interpreting for me today.“

Not much more to say, he thought, but he also didn’t want this conversation to be over already.

Mickey’s mental spiral got interrupted by Ian challenging him with signing “WHAT? A -Thank you- from the ever so grumpy Mickey? Wow! How did I deserve this?“

Mickey’s “Fuck you, G-A-L-L-A-G-H-E-R!“ was followed by his fist flying in Ian‘s direction. He didn’t really want to start a fist fight, it was more of a cute way to put him into place. He liked how the redhead spurred him on.

When the taller man caught his fist midair and didn’t let go right away, it changed the whole mood within the small space of the car. The air became noticeably different. The feeling from earlier came back, creeping into his stomach-- that weird feeling Mickey wasn’t sure how or where to place. It was so present that he wasn’t even able to control his movements anymore. Ian leaned in and Mickey did so, too. His body seemed to crave being close to the other man. He wanted Ian to never let go of his hand. Ever.

Suddenly he felt his fist fall and realized that Ian looked scared, as if he had done something very wrong. He formed a fist with his right hand and was bringing it to his chest, obviously wanting to apologize.

Mickey’s brain shut off and his body worked on instinct. He didn’t need Ian to apologize. He didn’t want Ian to apologize. He wanted this. He _needed_ this.

 _Now or never._ Mickey took Ian‘s face into both his hands and crashed their lips together. That weird feeling in his stomach spread throughout his whole body. There wasn’t an inch in his body that wasn’t prickling. He had never felt anything like it before.

Mickey didn’t know that he could feel this much in one moment. A moment he had dreaded happening. A moment he was so scared of. But there he was, beaming like a kid on Christmas morning.

He looked at Ian, both still panting. The redhead looked so soft, and happy.

Ian pointing at his house brought them both back to reality. “Gotta go,“ the redhead signed. “But maybe you’ll need an interpreter again, soon?“

“Maybe I will.“ Mickey slowly melted into his old sarcastic self, again. “I guess I’ll see you around, Red!“ But this time, he didn’t come across as harsh or mean. He just wanted Ian to see how he felt.

“I guess you will,“ Ian signed and climbed out of the car.

Mickey watched him walk up the porch. Ian locked eyes with him one last time before opening the door and disappearing into the house.

Mickey was alone once again, but this time it was different. He sat there for another few seconds before starting the car, unsure if all of this was real or if it was just a dream. Maybe he would wake up any second to Mandy pulling his blanket away again.

But he didn’t. He was awake. It was real, and he could still taste Ian on his lips.

Mickey stroked his thumb over his lips before putting the gear into drive to head home, with a smile that could not be tamed.

So this was it. This was how it felt.

This was happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for tuning in again (:
> 
> Kudos and/or comments and any kind of feedback is very appreciated!


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